


Harry Potter and the Scarred Mind

by Khashana



Series: The Scars Trilogy [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Not Ginny Bashing, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Romance, canon-compliant slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khashana/pseuds/Khashana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry claims he got over Draco years ago. His wife knows better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry Potter and the Scarred Mind

“I can’t take this anymore, Harry,” said Ginny, plopping down in front of him at the kitchen table.  
“Hmm?” asked Harry, distracted.  
“Run along, Lily,” said Ginny, and their only daughter cast them a worried look and headed out.  
“Have you ever loved me?” asked Ginny, and Harry stared at her.  
“Of course,” he said by reflex.  
“Really?” asked Ginny, raising an eyebrow. “Because lately I’m not sure. It seems like you’re always thinking about something or someone else. I look at other couples, and they all seem head over heels for each other. You were never like that with me.”  
“Fourteen years we’ve been married, twenty we’ve been together,” said Harry, pausing to do the math, “and now you’re complaining? Why didn’t you say something?”  
“Because I kept expecting it to change!” said Ginny exasperatedly. “I thought it was too good to be true when you finally noticed me back, but now I think you just needed the comfort.”  
“Of course I love you,” repeated Harry, getting up to go to her, but she stopped him with a look.  
“Passionately? Or reasonably?” He stared at her. She shook her head sadly.  
“Can’t I make it up to you?” he said, feeling stupid.  
“I bring up feeling ignored all the time,” she pointed out. “You just agree with me like you’re not even listening. You let me win the arguments even more now than you used to.”  
“It’s chivalrous,” he protested. She rolled her eyes.  
“Since when did you ever let Hermione win an argument? Harry, unrequited love fades. I hardly love you anymore. I loved a man that you just aren’t, because I’m not your dream. I’m certain someone else is, someone else that’s been the thing you really wanted all along.”  
“You think I’m cheating on you?” he said, starting to get annoyed.  
“No. Except in thought. I’m only telling you this so I can say, ‘Go and find them. I really hope it works out.’ I hope you can be happy, Harry. But I’m leaving you.”

“I’m giving it a week, for Lily to get used to the idea and pack. Then we’re going.”  
“You’re taking Lils?” Harry felt…not quite numb, but close to it. None of this felt real. Then again, not much about home did, anymore. When he was teaching his boys to fly, or telling Lily stories of thestrals and centaurs, that felt real. Work, that did, too. Harry missed playing Quidditch as a team, but he was quite done with fame. In the Auror office, everyone was either like Mad-eye, so weathered by time and Dark wizards that even the name Harry Potter didn’t impress them, or someone who’d known and worked with Harry personally, and could see past his name to his ability, strengths and faults alike.  
But living as a family, with Ginny? Now that he thought about it, the sense of unrealness had always been there, though at first he had taken it for the newness of married life. Still. Even if it was better that he and Ginny separate, she was taking his daughter? His sons, too, when they came home?  
“How are you supposed to find yourself with my children living in your house?” asked Ginny pointedly. “Besides, Lily’s nine. It won’t be long before she starts getting real crushes, before her body starts to change, and she’ll need to be living with a woman she trusts.” Her face softened at his expression. “We’ll trade off holidays. Christmas at one house, Easter at the other. And we’ll all be together for Christmas Day. Probably here, as friends, like in fourth year, when Dad was in St. Mungo’s, right?”  
“Promise?” said Harry, feeling like a small child.  
She smiled. “Promise. And we’ll trade off for summers, however they want to do it. Speaking of which, we have to tell James and Al. I’ve asked Professor McGonagall if I can drop by in a few days. It should really be done in person. I just didn’t want anything to spoil Al’s Sorting. I’ll take all the blame, don’t worry. I won’t make you the bad guy. You’re still their father.” Harry smiled his thanks and pulled her into a hug. “See?” she whispered. “We’re already better as friends.”  
“Why don’t I leave?” asked Harry, though he hated to say it. “It makes more sense for more people to live here.”  
“Well, I want the kids to have permanent rooms in both places,” said Ginny. “and this is your house. Sirius left it to you. So, no. I’ve already found a place, affordable, close, and with enough bedrooms.”  
“‘I’ve got the divorce all planned, I’m just waiting to tell my husband,’” quipped Harry.  
“You were never my husband, Harry,” said Ginny sadly, “simply because you were never mine.”  
True to her word, she left a week later, trailing a tearful Lily, who had waited an entire six days before even beginning to pack. As promised, Ginny had explained the situation to Lily, and later to Al and James, in entirely unambiguous terms. They simply weren’t right for each other. No, Harry hadn’t done anything. No, she hadn’t done anything. They were still friends, they just weren’t living together anymore. It was in no way the children’s fault, and they would all still see a lot of each other.  
Harry often wondered, lying in bed alone, who this person could be that Ginny was so sure had taken her place in his heart before she’d ever had it. He worked through the entire conversation again, one night in mid-September. Something Ginny had said was niggling at him. It was something about Christmas…  
…like in fourth year, when Dad was in St. Mungo’s…  
But that had been fifth year. The niggle resolved itself as he remembered that since Ginny was a year younger than him, it would have been fourth year for her, but fifth year for him. Fifth year. And the answer to his question hit him in a flash.  
Who did I love even before Ginny? What was on my mind throughout fifth year?  
Draco Malfoy.  
But that was impossible. He’d got over Draco in sixth year. Or had he? He remembered vividly the pain of rejection, on the Hogwarts Express, and then in the girls’ bathroom. And, so soon after that, kissing Ginny for the first time. Had she been right? Had it been Draco he’d wanted, all this time?  
But Draco was married, with a son. Well, Harry was married, or had been, with two sons and a daughter, wasn’t he? He fell asleep thinking about it, and spent the whole next day trying to make a decision. Finally, he decided it couldn’t hurt to pay the man a visit, and scribbled an owl before he could change his mind.  
He received a reply without delay.

Mr. Potter,  
I can receive you at my place of residence at four o’clock tomorrow.  
D. Malfoy

His heart skipped a beat as he read the oh-so-familiar handwriting.  
At four o’clock the next day, Harry Apparated a short walk from Malfoy Manor. The gates opened without prompting, and the door before he could knock.  
For a moment, Harry couldn’t breathe. Here, just inches from him, the face he had known and loved so well.  
“Thanks for seeing me,” he said after a moment. Malfoy stepped back to let him in.  
“It would be most imprudent to ignore a message from the Ministry’s best Auror,” he returned.  
“I’m not here on Auror business,” said Harry as Malfoy closed the door behind him. Malfoy raised one blonde eyebrow.  
“Why, then?” Ever the proper host, he guided Harry into a sitting room. Harry took a seat on a red velvet couch, and Malfoy did the same opposite a small glass coffee table. Coffee was waiting there for both of them. Harry decided to be blunt.  
“My wife just left me.” The second eyebrow joined the first.  
“‘Just’ sounds accurate. I saw you together at the platform. But how does this concern me?” Harry took a breath and looked away.  
“She thinks I’m still in love with someone I loved before I ever dated her.”  
He chanced a look at Malfoy. It was worth it. The other man’s expression went through confusion, a burst of shocked understanding, and then a momentary tenderness.  
“Are you trying to say you still love me?” he asked, voice barely audible. Then his face hardened again. “I told you I couldn’t be that for you.”  
“Twenty years ago,” protested Harry. “Hasn’t enough time gone by?” Then he shook his head. “But you’re married, too.” To his surprise, Draco waved this off as unimportant.  
“Astoria? Politics. I honestly doubt she’d mind. But, Harry…everything I did…everything I became…I’m different now, and so are you. And surely I damaged you. Damaged us. I hurt you in every way possible.” The old ache resurfaced as he mentioned it. Unwilling to lie, Harry nodded.  
“Yes. But…Draco…can I just see you sometimes? Even if it’s just for closure?” After what seemed like a forever pause, Draco nodded. Feeling as though he’d done enough for one day, Harry left.  
Harry spent the next few days in that peculiar state of mind which involves desperately wanting to see someone, but not wanting to hurt the budding relationship by too much contact. Perhaps Draco knew this, as it was he who owled Harry next.

Mr. Potter,  
May I have the pleasure of presenting my wife to you, at my house on Sunday?  
D.M.

Harry returned a note with Draco’s owl.

Mr. Malfoy,  
I would be delighted.  
H. Potter

 

He was too early by fifteen minutes, which he spent agitatedly pacing up and down in front of the gates, which finally barked, “Are you coming in, or not?” Taken aback, Harry went. Again, the door opened as he approached it.  
“Mr. Potter,” said Draco formally, though a bit of a smile quirked at his lips. “My wife, Astoria.”  
Harry had seen Astoria Malfoy only once, at Hogwarts Station. He remembered almost nothing about her, which felt strange, as it ought to have been hard to forget the woman who beamed at him as she came in. She was well dressed, but on her it was not snobbish, only fitting. She reminded Harry a little of a young Molly Weasley, if Molly Weasley had ever had money. She had blonde hair which fell past her shoulders, but it was a darker color than Draco’s by far, almost brown. Her eyes reflected her smile, and danced with anticipation. Harry had the oddest feeling she knew exactly who he was, beyond the obvious, and his suspicions were confirmed when Draco said, “I’ve explained to her the nature of our engagement, and she wanted to meet you herself.” Harry blinked.  
“That’s unexpected,” he said directly to Astoria. She laughed.  
“Most women wouldn’t relish meeting their husband’s ex-boyfriend who’s interested in rekindling the relationship, for any reason friendly, you mean? But I’m not most women, Harry Potter. And my relationship with my husband is far from typical.”  
“What is it, then?” asked Harry. “You mentioned politics?” he added to Draco.  
“Yes, all politics,” replied the man. “I needed a good, or at least better, standing with the Ministry. You left my family’s career in shambles, you know. And an heir. Astoria’s in very good standing with Shacklebolt, and, as you know, we have a child. She also happens to be pureblood, unusual though her politics are.”  
“And what do you get out of it?” Harry asked Astoria.  
“The money,” she said simply. “I want to be Minister of Magic when Shacklebolt steps down, and you don’t get noticed enough for that on minimum Galleon. My parents disowned me when they found out I didn’t support You-Know-Who. I had to write to Dumbledore and ask for the money to come back to Hogwarts for my seventh year.”  
“What year were you in?” Harry asked, racking his brains. Now that he thought about it, he thought he remembered seeing a girl who might have been Astoria. But all of the Slytherin table had joined Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts…perhaps she wasn’t a Slytherin?  
“I’m a year older than Draco, actually. Thank Merlin for that, ‘cause I graduated before everything really went to the dogs. I’d probably have been murdered by my own housemates for not wanting to be a Death Eater. I kept my political views quiet.”  
“It was a good plan,” interjected Draco. “We were all practically rabid those last years. You kept your head down, though, which is odd for a Slytherin.”  
“Oh, but I was definitely a Slytherin,” laughed Astoria. “Why else would I have married you for your money? Not honorable enough for any Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. But I say it’s a sight better than murder, and I’m happy. It’s taken a long time to get myself to a place where I could be a serious consideration for Minister, and Shacklebolt’s held on the post right tightly. They’re saying it won’t be much longer, though. And I couldn’t have done it without Draco’s backing.”  
“Couldn’t you have just borrowed some?” asked Harry, still slightly baffled. Both Malfoys threw back their heads and laughed.  
“You’re thinking like a Gryffindor, Harry,” said Draco. “All noble and loyal. I had to get something out of the deal, didn’t I? Astoria’s pureblooded and Slytherin enough for me to keep a standing with those few of my old crowd who still have some power, if only over my dignity, and such a favorite at the Ministry that I no longer get the evil eye from quite all of your lot. And she’s a wonderfully nice woman. I say everything worked out beautifully.”  
“Does Scorpius know you’re…like this?” asked Harry. They nodded.  
“We explained it to him as soon as he was old enough to understand,” said Draco.  
They sat in silence for a moment, Harry staring with some wonder at two of the only three Slytherins he’d ever liked. The more he watched them move around each other, the more he was convinced that they really were just good friends, and he said so.  
“Best friends,” agreed Astoria. Then, in all seriousness, she added, “Harry, I want you to know, and Draco keeps laughing at me for saying this—” Draco buried his face in his hands—“but if you two can be happy together, I would completely support you. I would ask that you not go public until I can work it into my campaign in the best possible way, and I’d still demand my share of Draco’s money, but if you can cure him of this misery he insists he hasn’t got, I’ll divorce him and give him away at the altar to you with great happiness and all my blessings.”  
Harry started to laugh. He stood up, an action which the Malfoys repeated, and held out his arms to Astoria, who returned the hug with enthusiasm. “I hope you make Minister,” he told her. “You should really drop by the Auror office more often, though. I’m head of the department, and yet I’ve never met you? You need to be a little better known yet, I think.” She nodded.  
“I’ve got a little work to do still. And I’ll definitely come by and see you. It’ll do my image a lot of good to be seen being friendly with you.”  
“But now I think I’ve trespassed on your time long enough,” said Harry, consulting Fabian Prewett’s old watch. “Very nice to meet you, Astoria.”  
“Likewise, Harry,” she replied. Draco walked him to the door.  
“So, you like her?” he asked.  
“Very much,” replied Harry. “She’s a right laugh. And she’s only the third Slytherin.”  
“That you’ve liked? Who were the other two?” Harry’s heart suddenly raced.  
“Nymphadora Tonks was one,” he said, glancing at the door as if to make sure he wasn’t about to walk into a wall.  
“The Auror? That makes a certain amount of sense. And the last?”  
Harry turned and stared directly into Draco’s eyes. His own cheeks grew hot, but he was gratified to see Draco blush as well. And then the other man’s face hardened again, just as Harry turned on the spot to vanish.  
Harry nearly Splinched in his Apparition. Why had Malfoy looked at him like that? Once again, he found himself leaving Draco alone.  
A loud knocking on the door and simultaneous ringing of the bell brought Harry downstairs in a hurry the next day, thankful once again that Kreacher had let him brick up Mrs. Black. He opened it to find Draco Malfoy standing on the steps. Harry was briefly annoyed with him for making such a panicky racket and still not having a hair out of place.  
“Don’t you hate it when the things you felt but didn’t have words for become the perfect thing to say hours after the fact?” asked Draco without preamble. “I’m up at two o’clock in the morning, Potter, and it’s all your fault, because all I can think about is how I should have made myself clearer and exactly how I should have done it.” He stopped acting flustered and stared Harry in the eyes. “You can’t love me, Potter. I’m not the kid I was at fifteen. I’m sorry you haven’t moved on, but I’m not someone you can possibly love anymore.”  
“Did I say I was in love with you?” protested Harry. “My now almost ex-wife thinks so, but all I want is some closure. How on earth could I possibly still love you twenty-one years later? We’ve both changed.” Draco stared at him for a long moment.  
“If you’re saying you don’t still love me, I don’t believe you,” he said finally. “I can see it in your eyes. But I guess I can’t warn you anymore. You’re an adult. Free to get your own heart broken. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  
“Look,” said Harry desperately, “can’t we just see more of each other and see what happens? Merlin, that sentence sounded awful.”  
“Pathetic,” agreed Draco, but a familiar smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “Potter, was that your idea of asking me to go out with you?”  
Harry stopped his blabbing mouth forcefully, swallowed, thought, ‘What would Draco say?’, and replied, “What if it was?”  
Draco threw his head back and laughed.  
“You’re learning,” he said when he recovered himself. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then, Potter, unless that’s too soon?”  
Harry just stared at him, finally gulping and saying, “For that date?” Then, “Where would we go?” When Draco just watched him, he nodded and said, “Tomorrow’s fine. Eight o’clock?”  
“Eight o’clock,” agreed Draco, and Disapparated.

At eight o’clock promptly the next day, Harry opened the door to Draco’s knock. Not having any idea what he would be doing, Harry had dressed simply in a creamy white shirt and pants. Draco said nothing, only held out his arm. Harry took it, and they Disapparated.  
They appeared beside a frozen lake, surrounded by snow and black, leafless trees. Harry knew at once that it wasn’t entirely real though—the air was merely pleasantly cool. Several other couples were skating.  
“Where are we?” he asked. Draco only smiled enigmatically and held out a hand.  
“Shall we?” Harry took it, and Draco stepped out onto the ice. As each shoe crossed the boundary between snow and ice, it transformed into an ice skate. Harry followed, and watched his shoes perform the same transformation.  
Hand in hand, they skated across the ice, talking about anything, Draco catching Harry whenever he lost his balance, until finally, in need of rest, they stepped off together and sat down on a nearby park bench.  
“Was that sufficient as a date, Potter?”  
“More than sufficient,” said Harry, grinning. “Even though neither of us know what we’re doing here.”  
They stared at each other for a minute, and Harry took the time to re-memorize the contours of Draco’s eyes, and then the rest of his face.  
“ _Merlin’s beard,_ ” said Harry suddenly, and buried his head in his hands.  
“Harry?” Draco sounded concerned.  
“She was _right_ ,” said Harry in a voice that sounded muffled even to him.  
“About…? Don’t make me drag this out of you, Potter,” said Draco, but his voice was concerned. Harry raised his head and stared at him for a second before answering.  
“I am still in love with you.”  
Draco stared back for a moment before sighing and leaning his head back, shutting his eyes.  
“I did warn you.” Harry started to speak, but Draco cut him off. “You still don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter how I feel. I won’t ruin you. I’m sorry, Harry. I tried.” And he stood and Disapparated.  
Feeling a bit shell-shocked, Harry gave him space for a few days. Then he sent Draco an owl. It wasn’t fair to make his decisions for him like that, and he thought he deserved a chance to…prove himself? Prove Draco to _his_ self? He wasn’t quite sure. After the third day with no reply, he got more persistent. He sent letters, his house-elf, flowers, and turned up at the door twice. All were ignored, though on one memorable occasion, Astoria answered the door and told him it was wonderful to see him again, but unfortunately Draco was ignoring him and she’d been unable to talk sense into him. Finally, a week after the failed date, Kreacher announced in his bullfrog voice, “There is a Mrs. Astoria Malfoy in the fire for Master, and she says to hurry.” After nearly falling down the stairs in his rush to get to the kitchen, Harry simply Apparated in front of his own fireplace, making Astoria, whose head was indeed sticking out of the flames, jump. Her face was unusually grave.  
“Come,” she said simply. “Just Apparate right in. He’s asking for you. Something about showing you why.”  
Harry didn’t wait for another word, but turned on the spot. He appeared in the Malfoy’s drawing room, and immediately spotted Draco, who was curled into a corner, gasping for breath and crying furiously. Astoria sat next to him, face drawn and pale.  
Harry was across the room in two strides and knelt with her.  
“What’s wrong?’ he asked.  
“Panic attack,” she replied grimly. “Nothing helps that I know of. And touching him can make it worse.”  
“Harry,” choked Draco. “Get Harry,”  
“I’m here,” said Harry at once.  
“Have to show him…” He began to keen, rocking back and forth all while making that horrible, ongoing, high-pitched sob. He shook back his own sleeves and curled in the fingers of his right hand. To Harry’s horror, a new cut joined the old scars crisscrossing Draco’s left wrist. And they weren’t all old, either. There had definitely been less scars there twenty-one years ago.  
“No!” shouted Harry, and grabbed Draco’s hand. “If you have to hurt something, hurt me.” He forced Draco’s fingers into the skin of his own wrists. He still wasn’t sure Draco could hear him—the emotion it must take to still produce wandless magic that violent at their age boggled the part of his mind still thinking rationally—but the blond man seemed to get the idea and hung on, digging his nails in deeper. It hurt, but Harry gritted his teeth and remembered cutting into the back of his own hand with an enchanted quill. That had been worse. This, he could certainly bear for Draco. It seemed like hours before Draco relaxed. When he did, he relaxed so completely that he sort of fell into Harry’s lap. Harry gathered him up and wrapped his arms around Draco. He was still crying, but it was a normal cry now, an exhausted cry. Astoria passed him a handkerchief silently, and when Draco finally sat up on his own and swiped at his face, Harry gave it to him. Draco blew his nose repeatedly, and finally looked at Harry.  
“Thank you,” he said, “is what I have to say first, because that helped. But this is why you can’t love me, Harry. I’m bloody insane. All I did was get frustrated with somebody and point my wand at her, and suddenly she was Dumbledore, she was everyone who I ever practiced the Cruciatus on, and I thought of you and she was you, too. All these years afterwards. It’s never going to get better. I’m damaged, Harry, and no one deserves to be saddled with that.”  
Harry took a minute to absorb all this. Then he took a breath and said, “I love you. I always have. I always will. I love your soul, which has not changed. And do you really think I can’t deal with panic attacks, after everything I’ve seen and done? This won’t hurt me like you think.”  
“It already has,” said Draco bitterly, indicating Harry’s wrists. “ _I_ already have.” Harry looked at his wrists. The fingernail marks were red and raw. One was starting to bleed. He shook it off. “I’ll take this any day,” he said, holding them up, “over _that_.” He took Draco’s wrist, which was still bloody, and gently siphoned off the blood with his wand. “I don’t care if you’re mad,” he added. “I don’t. Because I love you. A lot of stuff came between us, but honestly, I just want to forget it all. I _forgive_ you. Now, do you still love me or not?”  
“There’s not an ‘I don’t know’ choice?” asked Draco, but then he smiled. “Doesn’t matter. Of course I still love you. I love the you I knew at fifteen and the you I’ve heard about since, and I’d love to fall in love with the you you are.”  
“Very poetic, Draco,” said Harry, but he was smiling.  
“Malfoy family trait. I think Father had an ancestor who killed all of his sons who couldn’t write decent poetry.” Harry was 90% sure he was joking.  
“So, what do you say? Ready to stop being a martyr?”  
“Since I can’t stop you being a noble, self-sacrificing Gryffindor idiot…” Harry kissed him.

“I still say I should have been the one to walk him down the aisle. This is just strange,” Ron muttered.  
“Shut up,” said Hermione affectionately, straightening her fancy golden dress and sitting up straighter in the white folding chair. “You walked him down the aisle for his first wedding. Besides, this is so poetic and sweet.”  
“If you say so,” said Ron as she fixed his crimson bow tie for the forty-second time.  
“I say so. Look how much it says to how genuinely happy Ginny is for him that she offered. The last thing you’d want is for him to see her sitting where you are and feel guilty about it, right?”  
“Frankly, I’m amazed she forgave him that much. And insisted that we do it, too.”  
“They weren’t—” Hermione was cut off by the sound of the orchestra and tugged Ron to his feet. They turned to face the back.  
Two aisles cut through the mass of folding chairs. Up one walked Draco, wearing a black tuxedo, walking next to a beaming Astoria, resplendent in robes of red. Following them were Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Severus Potter. Up the other walked Harry, in a white tuxedo, on his arm, the once-again Miss Ginny Weasley, also grinning and wearing red. Lily and James Potter the second followed at a short distance. The two former couples reached the altar with their children, and then all except the two men stood back.  
“You may be seated,” said the small wizard presiding. Ron and Hermione sat down. Hermione grinned across the aisle at Teddy, whose hair was blonde for the occasion, and he grinned back, enthusiasm infectious as always.  
“Who gives Mr. Harry James Potter?” asked the wizard.  
“I do,” said Ginny firmly, “and relinquish in the presence of these witnesses any and all claim I had on him.”  
“Was that part of the ceremony?” asked Rose on Hermione’s other side.  
“No, dear. Quiet, now,” she whispered back.  
“Who gives Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy?” the wizard continued.  
“I do,” said Astoria proudly, “gladly and just as I promised.” Draco grinned at her, and she grinned back.  
The rest of the ceremony passed without deviation from tradition, and segued neatly into the reception, just as Fleur’s had done. A witch in Gryffindor colors sat down at a golden harp and began to play, and Kreacher appeared to personally serve as many people as he could. Hermione had objected to this, until Harry told her it was Kreacher’s idea and that nobody had been able to talk him out of it. Ginny and Teddy came to sit beside the Weasleys as the happy couple had their first dance—a convention only Hermione realized came from Muggle culture, and she smiled to think that former Death Eater Draco Malfoy was participating in a Muggle tradition.  
“They’re so sweet together, aren’t they?” asked Ginny, watching Draco and Harry, a study in contrasts, emphasized by the way they were dressed. Black hair topped white, and white hair topped black.  
Ron blinked. “I guess.”  
The song changed, and Blaise Zabini took Astoria out onto the floor.  
“I think I would like Astoria,” said Teddy. “She seems like a laugh.”  
“I bet you would, Teddy,” answered Ginny. “She reminds me a lot of your mum, actually. Does Scorpius have any Astoria in him?” she asked Al, who was sitting next to her.  
“I guess,” said Al, echoing his uncle. “I never hung out with her much. But Scorp’s a right laugh.”  
“You know this dance is supposed to be for the bride and her father?” said Hermione sadly. “But neither of them have a father to speak of.”  
“Do so,” said Ron, getting up in a hurry and walking away. Curiously, Hermione watched as he walked over to his parents, who were just about to join Astoria and Blaise, and whispered to them. They looked surprised, and Mr. Weasley hurried over to the witch playing the harp. The music stopped, and the couples looked surprised.  
“ _Sonorus_ ,” said Mr. Weasley, pointing his wand at his own throat. His voice boomed out magically. “My son and daughter-in-law inform me that the second dance in Muggle weddings is traditionally meant to be a father-daughter dance for the bride. Since Molly and I consider Harry and Draco to be our children, and since neither of them has living parents, we’d like to offer--well. Will you do us this honor of allowing us to stand in as your parents?”  
He took the charm off his voice as Draco and Harry, beaming, thanked them profusely. The harp music started up again, and Arthur led Harry out onto the floor, followed closely by Draco and Molly. Ron came back to the table, ears flushing red, followed by Astoria and Blaise.  
“Can’t get in the way of that, can we?” said Astoria by way of explanation.  
“Are you quite set on finishing that dance when this is over?” asked Ginny suddenly.  
“Not _quite_ set,” replied Astoria, frowning. Then, just as suddenly, she smiled. “Why? You want to cut in?” Blaise was remarkably quick on the uptake.  
“Miss Weasley, may I have the next dance?”  
“You may,” replied Ginny, smiling slightly. Ron looked between the two.  
“Well, if Harry can do it,” he muttered so only Hermione could hear him.  
“That was a nice thing you did for them,” she answered. “You didn’t have to.”  
His ears went red again.  
“It’s just, you know, this way they have of looking at each other,” he said, still under his breath. “I dunno how to describe it.” Hermione looked over at the couple in question, who were sneaking an adoring look in over their respective partners’ backs.  
“I do,” she said quietly, smiling again. “They look at each other like…they’re soul mates.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like Astoria now. I know she’s supposed to be younger than Draco, but it didn’t fit, and I only apply canon-compliance as far as what fits when it comes to stuff that isn’t actually in the book. In this case, I didn’t realize Astoria was younger until I’d already written it, and then it didn’t work to have her at Hogwarts during the Battle—she’d have had to have joined Voldemort’s side, and I wanted her to be likeable.  
> And I really get tired of Ron being the main obstacle to Harry’s happiness. It’s overused, even though it’s totally in character for him. So I make him older, a little wiser, and have Ginny intercede on their behalf, and I get to work around it! Yay!


End file.
